Aaron stood before the desiccated husk of Dracula, his expression flat, a mask of indifference that belied the cosmic power coursing through him.
The void's chaotic storms raged around the withered body, suspended in a maelstrom of primal energy, its flesh shriveled like ancient parchment, veins stark against translucent skin.
Yet even in this ravaged state, the Lord of the Eternal Night exuded a faint, regal menace, a shadow of the terror he once commanded.
"Alright, great-grandpa," Aaron said, his voice a low rumble, tinged with dry amusement. "Time to wake you up." With a casual gesture, he seized Dracula's frail form, bending the fabric of space with effortless precision.
The void dissolved in a ripple of reality, replaced by the sanctuary's grand chamber, its obsidian walls pulsing with runes that hummed with ancient power, their glow casting eerie shadows across the polished floor.
